Other-Derech Children

I always dreamed of the day when all my boys would be old enough to sit around my Shabbos table and, together with a sprinkling of sons-in-law, make up a minyan. The zemiros would be multifaceted; the low, rich harmonies supporting the foundation, the higher harmonies teasing my soul upward for a few precious moments.

Shalosh seudos would stretch just a little too late, and they’d make an impromptu minyan for Maariv, right there in my living room. But long before my youngest son’s bar mitzvah, that dream slowly drifted away, carried downstream in a quiet river of salty tears.

I’m a fairly typical chareidi mom. Large family, frum neighborhood, the right schools and yeshivos and all that. While my kids were young I worked part-time, mostly from home. I played with my kids and told them stories and sang them songs. I was involved and invested and present.

Oh, I’m far from perfect. I was always afraid of outside influences, so I was too tight with my kids. I didn’t let them play in just anyone’s house, I didn’t allow electronic devices even though most of their friends used them, and we didn’t use certain hechsherim. I thought that controlling all of these aspects gave us a better chance of raising solid, healthy kids.